


B&E

by CuriosityRedux



Series: Dragon Drabbles Berk [61]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Healer Ruffnut, Hiccstrid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 04:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriosityRedux/pseuds/CuriosityRedux
Summary: Astrid needs Ruffnut's help with something extremely important.





	B&E

**B &E**

**-**

“So, what’s it like?”

Astrid should be taken aback by Ruffnut’s blunt asking, but surprisingly, she’s not. She taps her foot restlessly and stares out the front window of Gothi’s tiny home. If anyone happens to come upon them while they’re rifling through the old woman’s jars and drawers– well– her friend’s lewd curiosity will be the least of her problems.

She didn’t _want_ to ask for Ruff’s help. It’d been a battle with her better sense, a lot of gnawing at her bottom lip and frustrated sighs. When it comes down to it, though, Astrid’s not a woman who can handle uncertainties. And with an empty box hidden beneath her bed, the wet warmth left behind by a lapse in restraint the night before suddenly threatened one very significant uncertainty. 

Ruffnut happens to be Gothi’s apprentice. She has access to things Astrid doesn’t. Important things, like hard-to-find herbs. That didn’t make it any easier to confess the secrets of her relationship with Hiccup, though.

“Throw Snot or Fish a bone and find out for yourself,” she grumbles beneath her breath. Nervously biting at her thumbnail, she wishes they could be just a little quicker about this particular thievery. 

“I’m curious, not desperate.” A wooden box opens and shuts across the room. “Come on. I’m doing you a favor.”

Astrid turns away from the window with a huff. She rubs her face with her hands and leans back against the wall. “It’s… it’s good. It’s exactly what they say it is.”

Ruff sends her an exasperated glance over her shoulder and pauses in her rummaging. “It’s _good_? Seriously, Astrid? If I wanted an answer that vague, I’d ask my mom.” Looking back at the large cabinet of leaves and medicines and other odd collections, she holds a dried flower-head to the light. “I want details, or no moon tea.”

She can feel her hackles rising. Fingers clenching into a fist, she attempts to keep her voice casual. “Or you get me what I need and I don’t tell your brother what happened to his dragon nip.”

“You need my discretion a lot more than I need yours.” Shrugging, Ruffnut drops the flower head into a mortar. She begins grinding it with a pestle as she turns and saunters towards the fire. The way she tilts the bowl of precious herbs towards the flames is clearly intentional. “You blab, I get sat on for a few hours while Tuff rubs his hand in his ass and makes me sniff it. Stomach-turning, but not as nauseating as morning sickness.”

Maybe she should just use brute force. A good beating would do her very frayed nerves some good. Raking her fingers though her hair, Astrid groans and checks out the window for the thousandth time. “What? What do you want to know?”

Just a little smug, Ruff pulls the mortar away from the hearth. “Details, slut!”

“Don’t call me that,” Astrid snaps. She starts chewing at her nails again. 

Details. She’s not sure exactly what her infuriating friend means by that. When she thinks about _details_ , she thinks about things like the undignified sweatiness of sex. The way they sometimes have to change positions because her leg is cramping or his arm is falling asleep. Nothing so secret or juicy. 

Ruffnut must realize she’s having difficulty coming up with an answer, because she asks with a roll of her eyes, “How long has this been going on?”

She looks up warily. “A little more than a year?”

“What? That long?” Ruff seems almost offended. “I figured you guys were still trying to figure out how to rub an orgasm out between all that leather he insists on wearing.”

Lifting her chin, Astrid folds her arms across her chest. “It’s aerodynamically sound,” she replies crisply. Gods, if Hiccup could hear her now… 

“Yeah, apparently aerodynamically sound enough to fly right between your legs.”

“I’m going to _kill_ you.”

“Not before you get your prevent-a-babe, you’re not!”

It’s actually a little hard herself to believe that it’s been over a year since they first whispered questions and affections between her bedsheets in the middle of the night. It feels like their whole relationship revolved the slow build. 

It took so long for them to even decide they were exclusive. Or rather– it took Hiccup so long to realize it, because _she’d_ figured they were a couple long before he did. Apparently he thought she went around kissing every Viking to cross her path, because when she’d called him her boyfriend for the first time, he’d stared at her with eyes so wide they seemed to take up his entire freckly face. Until then, it was almost always her part to kiss him. To reach for his hand. To pull him into a hug. But the sunny morning when he wondered aloud, “You’re my… girlfriend?” That had been the first time he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and very clumsily pressed his lips against hers. 

Their kissing improved, of course. Over time, it became less like an awkward and abrupt expression of overwhelming affection, and more like learning each other. Quick pecks turned into parted mouths gasping into each other, his mumbled apology, and her confused nod. Her _you don’t have to stop_ and his nervous gaze before their lips met again. Soon they were learning how to breathe into each other. Hiccup mastered the exact angle to tilt his head as his ever-occurring growth spurts left her trying to catch up to his height. And she discovered the delight of his startled moan of pleasure when she would ease her tongue between his teeth to dance with his.

Then there were the years of hands. Hands held politely at her waist. Hands feeling the muscles finding shape beneath loose tunics. Hands dragged higher, because _gods_ if she didn’t do it, he’d never try it himself. Hands above clothes, hands beneath clothes. Hands tripping over the knot of her bindings for the first time and scarred, calloused hands touching the bare skin of her breasts like flint on silk. Hands jumping away from her body when hers went searching for the ridge digging into her. 

That had been an adventure. A breathless afternoon when it looked like it might rain. They’d just begun finding more reasons to fly farther and farther from Berk– some to do with the map he’d started piecing together, but more to do with the privacy of an open and endless sky. They were stretched out on the grass, her shirt untucked from her skirt and pushed up to her ribs. She’d been curious about the hard length at his groin for weeks, but too shy to express her interest. 

She just wanted to feel it against her palm, to let him grind it against her hand instead of her skull-studded hip. But the second her fingers slid between their bodies and brushed over his waistband, he scrambled to sit up. His baffled gaze made her feel self conscious and ashamed. 

That was just the first contact, though. Before she explained that it _wasn’t_ an accident, that she _meant_ to touch him there. That no, it wasn’t bothering her, and no, she didn’t want to wait for it to go away. It took her another month or two before she’d wrap her hand around that hot length and nervously ask him what to do. That was the night she’d gotten hooked on his quiet groans, the sounds he made when he spurted warm and sticky release onto her leggings.

It took much longer for her to let him touch her between the legs. Exploring his body was one thing– letting him learn hers was another. She knew he was eager, and she was tired of coming just short of the edge of ecstasy while humping his thigh. But that didn’t keep her from blushing a ferocious red when she finally guided his fingers past the waistband of her skirt. Oh gods, that was almost worse than grinding against his leg. Having him so close but so clueless, and she wasn’t even sure how to teach him.

Once he understood, though, she knew she was ruined for life. His fingers were long and dexterous, and he mapped her like a diagram or blueprint on his desk. She’d been so shocked– so perplexed– whimpering and begging with stumbling words not to slow or stop. Then she’d come undone around his invasion– her vision went bright. Her nails turned to claws in his forearms. She writhed and gasped and then went slack, looking up at his aroused gaze in wonder. 

He was insatiable, after that first display of unrestrained need. It seemed that he’d finally found his confidence, because suddenly he was pulling her into shadows, behind walls, stealing her away to fill her with his fingers. Hands and fingers quickly turned into a warm breath exhaled between her thighs. The sweep of a tongue and soft lips teasing the bead of nerves that made her shudder. And once he discovered that he could make her body revolt again and again, without pause? She went hoarse from crying his name.

Just like the first time she touched him, though, he reacted to her crawling down his body with wide eyes and heaving breaths. 

“Astrid–” he’d choked. “You don’t– that’s not…”

Before long, though, the hands that touched her with excruciating gentleness had a knot in her hair that she doubted could be wrenched free by anything less than the gods. She tasted his seed for the first time, and he apologized profusely as he wiped her face with a handkerchief procured from his pocket. 

No matter how much they touched and teased and fingered and sucked, though, it was never enough. They always found themselves panting in torture, the heat of his cock rubbing through her soft flesh until both of their leggings were damp with her want. Sometimes they’d lie naked together, satisfied by hands and mouths, and she’d imagine how easy it would be for her to roll on top and sink down on him. No barriers, no fabric to stop her. 

It was almost an accident when it finally happened. Not in the sense that they hadn’t _meant_ to do it– but it wasn’t a lustful romp in the barn or a secret tryst off of Berk. It was in her bedroom, just meters from her sleeping parents. 

He’d crawled in her window, plagued by the pains of a foot lost years ago. And she was used to the bad nights, so she held him and stroked his hair until they passed. Before they fell asleep, though, they whispered their love for each other in more definite exclamations than they’d ever spoken aloud. She’d tugged his pants down with care, nervous that every move might revive his phantom pains. He eased her nightgown upwards, tested the slickness at her center with a single swipe of his hand. No fingers or lips or tongues or lost control. When they joined, it was a conscious and deliberate choice to give in to each other. 

It was a closeness she can’t put into words. Perhaps that’s why she finds it so hard to explain it to Ruffnut. The sensation him throbbing inside her was so intimate then, and it’s so special now. Even after a year of it– of making love, of sex, of fucking– every time reminds her of the things he murmured in the dark of her bedroom. Vows they’ve said to each other, just not in front of everyone else. 

Which would make an unplanned pregnancy very inconvenient. 

“Details,” she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before realizing that’s a habit she’s picked up from her boyfriend. And then she begins to tell her what she can. 


End file.
